Diabolical
by Taskmaster Rigby
Summary: He's a demon in denial. His one true love's always just out of reach, everyone hates him, and the entirety of Fortuna is about to be blown to Hell. By Hell. Add a lighthearted and self-proclaimed badass of a devil in... and suddenly his life's not too normal anymore.
1. Regret

**AN: **Rated M for potentially crude humour, suggestiveness and whatnot. It's meant to be for fun, anyway. Hopefully, you'll find it quite amusing. This is essentially a comedic version of DMC4 but there will be twists along the way and it won't exactly follow the story. Nor will it be going forth line-for-line. Amazing adventures await our forsaken heroes! Mwahahaha.

I hope I'll get round to writing more of this. Thanks to all who read, please leave a review and such! x

- Rigby. x

**Chapter 1**: Regret

Nero's Mono-prologue

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><p><em>Nero<em>.

That's my name. We still don't know why. I mean, I'm paler than someone who's never seen sun, wear bright clothes and everyone's ninety-nine percent sure I'm Jack Frost's distant cousin.

But disregarding all of the above, I'm just a regular boy with a regular life. Yep, puberty and all. Except the carpets match the drapes and one day I woke up panicking with the impression I'd fallen asleep for a century and acquired the hanging gardens of an old aged pensioner.

_Believe me_, it wasn't a great start to the day. Especially since I almost fell arse over balls down the stairs - with the latter exposed for all to see. But enough of that.

Where was I? Oh yeah...

Puberty hit me hard. And so I've been trying to lose my virginity like every other stereotypical or regularly typical teenager for the past year or so. Unfortunately, the only bang-able person in this fishy fucking fishing town happens to be a girl a thousand damn miles out of my league and now I'm almost convinced that she thinks I'm stalking her and is planning on staging her own kidnapping in the not-too distant future.

To get away. From me.

It's difficult, as you can tell, being who I am.

Although, her brother's considerably bang-able too but - the... beard. Thing is, I'm not into edge play and that shit is _evidently _dangerous. I've said this a thousand times; Credo doesn't need a damn sword, all he should have to do is headbutt people from just the right angle and he could be a God of his own design.

But you know. No one ever listens to me.

So yeah, everything was as normal as can be in Fortuna. [The most _mis-fortuna-tely_ named fishing town in all of the world. Where they fish mostly _For Tuna_.]

Until _that _day...

"Nnngh... I don't want to wake up... I don't want to go to mass..." I think I must have groaned it about a hundred times over but the world just wasn't fucking listening to me. Which, incidentally, was about as normal as that day got. But my phone kept going... and going... and going...

And then Credo joined in, he started messaging.

'You are missing my sister's performance.

When are you going to start appreciating

her for more than just her breasts?

Sometimes I cannot believe I permit you

to reside in the same home as we, Nero.

You disgust me. Get yourself together.'

- C.

Yeah, by no means am I the quickest person in all of existence. I'm restricted to two speeds - slow and stop. Not my fault, not my problem. Apparently, I _am _the problem but hey. I'm the one who has to constantly deal with myself day in and day out so everyone should consider themselves lucky.

They also don't have a scaly arm and claws that could render any and all chances with the girl of their dreams gone in a poof, whilst also forcing them to conduct certain night-time activities with the hand they can't do shit with.

Oh, they have it easy.

As you can probably imagine, I had to bandage it up and shove it in a sling that morning so Kyrie, aka Miss Hawk-Eye, wouldn't freak out as soon as she realised the thing wasn't rubber and LED implants.

With a sigh, I gazed longingly out of my bedroom window, pulling boots on in the meantime and wishing something interesting would happen for a change.

...I fucking hated myself for that later on, let me tell you.

* * *

><p>A light breeze delivering the elegant fragrance of a variety of dead sea-dwelling organisms. Ranging from fish - to dying fish. To ultimately dead fish. That was the aroma of Fortuna and it was accompanied by the swishing and sloshing of the nearby sea, bells of ships passing back and forth from the docks as the sun began to rise and, with it, as did the locals.<p>

It only made Nero want to be a pirate, though, perpetually leaving him stranded in his dissatisfactory life of routine. With the occasional intervention of demons that had been appearing out and about lately. One might be able to hear the growl of 'arghhhh!' and 'I'll make ya walk the plank, matey!' As Nero engaged in lighthearted combat with the opposition.

To him, it made life more worthwhile.

That morning, he couldn't linger. For Kyrie's voice sang to him. Directly calling, he allowed to delude himself. She would be his! And only his! ...some day.

It wasn't until he'd left that cobbled street painted colours of varying shades that he sprinted at top speed - slow - to reach his one and only. Who had ceased to sing altogether the moment he'd seated himself. And Credo shot a scathing glare across the room, harsh enough to possibly melt the particles of the stuffy air around them as Nero awkwardly stepped over legs, tripped over shoes and finally faceplanted his seat with a muffled thump.

Alas, luck appeared to be on his side. For the only spare seat was right next to him. And as she settled into it, his heart raced with glee that was contradicted by his poor attempt at feigning disinterest.

His cheeks could stop traffic. And their glow made Credo scoff over Sanctus's little speech, arms folding tightly to his chest. How dare that snowflake of a mongrel ever hope to win his sister's heart. The idea was despicable - he could write a text book on everything wrong with it.

In fact... he would write one...

The Captain's head slowly turned and his gaze had dropped in temperature to below freezing. Like ice, his eyes were motionless. And fixed on the boy who had ruined his life...

_ ...he'd write it..._

_ ...and then he'd get Kyrie to write a letter of harsh rejection..._

_...slip it inside..._

_...and give it to him on Valentine's day._

Bringing one's hopes up only to send them down like a lead balloon - ahhh, Credo loved the smell of brutal revenge in the morning.

And that moment, that split second of the room's occupants bowing their heads to pray. The thing happened.

Just as Abba burst into '_gimme gimme gimme a man after midnight_' in Nero's left ear, as Kyrie started to sing along in the otherwise deathly silence... as Credo almost peed himself with sheer excitement...

Their living nightmare crashed through the ceiling, sending painted glass raining down in a shower of glinting colour... and blew a hole directly through Sanctus's face.

Nero threw himself up into a victorious stance with a fist in the air and screamed, "**Hallelujah**!"

The only verbal response he received was from Kyrie who, still seated, gawked up at him with innocent eyes and spoke in a small voice. "-that's Leonard Cohen, not Abba."

And Credo, who had shifted across the room in a matter of seconds to avoid being caught in the eruption of glass, glared at the 'assassin'. Truly his face was a mask of fury, with beard possibly pointier than usual.

He raised his sword at the stranger clad and splattered in red alike and gave a battle cry to set his guards upon him.

"_Kill Leonard Cohen_!"


	2. The End of the World As We Know It

**AN: **Greetings again, lovelies! Seeing a couple of reviews made me extra happy and I've been in a writing mood so here's the next chapter for you all! This may or may not become irregularly updated, I do have my moments where I get block or just don't feel it, but... for now, all is well and I hope you continue to enjoy this madness.

Apologies for the shortness of the chapters so far - I hope to have them increase in length once this whole thing gets going more.

Thanks a lot, and please leave a review - it motivates me more! x

- Rigby.

**Chapter 2**: The End of the World as We Know It

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><p>In hindsight, screaming 'your Holiness' out of panic for the old man hadn't been <em>quite <em>the _right _thing to voice at just that moment, for, due to that up close and personal shot - Sanctus had been left even more holy than he had been prior to the event. Particularly, where his visage used to be. And so Credo cursed himself under his breath as his men ran headfirst into their collective demise that was so stylishly served to them by the one and only-

_Dante_.

Kyrie didn't even know his name yet, and somehow she was the only one to point out that this was, in fact, not Leonard Cohen, as her brother had concluded with special thanks to god fucking awful timing, overhearing and misunderstanding her words. But because her brother's beard was a trillion times larger than the one brain cell he functioned on, her protests fell on deaf ears and his glacial optics clashed with Nero's once more. This time, he backed the glare up with a command, the flailing corpses of the Order's men as his epic backdrop.

"Nero! You fend him off for now! I'll take Kyrie somewhere safe," c_onveniently away from you_, "and let you handle the situation. I'm sure you'll be... _**perfectly** _alright."

This last statement was accompanied by a dark smile and Credo simultaneously pulled his sister down from the elevated platform and to so-called 'safety'. Once abandoned, Nero could only hear the muffled sound of Abba from his headphones, demanding a man after midnight whilst he watched his darling Kyrie being shepherded off.

He felt a pang of sadness, _loss_ - he couldn't have what he wanted and he was slowly progressing towards resignation.

Like a hopeless puppy, Nero turned around to regard his would-be assailant with tired eyes. "You gonna pick on someone who's only got one arm? Since when was that fair, huh?"

That made the stranger snort, leaning on the considerably large sword he'd been wielding. His stance was too casual... it pissed Nero off. He would have made that good ol' joke about compensating for something but no. It was too cliche, and he was one of the cool kids.

"Looks like you've got _two_ arms to me, kiddo," a gloved hand gestured toward the sling, "just one of 'em doesn't wanna work today. Can I take a guess?"

That following grin invoked the ugly side of Nero's emotions and provided enough fuel to hurtle him towards the other at inhuman speed. He was fast like Usain and graceful like a dove before it collided with an unfortunate end.

In short - the knight got knocked out with the flat of Dante's blade. It sent him flying across the room, rump plopping onto one of the pews that had dispersed from their originally neat arrangement. He toppled over, out cold, and remained oblivious to Dante's swift departure afterwards, back through where he'd made his grand entrance.

Fucker could have at least tried to mend the ceiling before he went, though.

* * *

><p>"...Nero. Nero!" Once again, Credo was trying to wake the knight up. Not until he'd gotten over the damage dealt to Sparda's statue - which had been rendered faceless, thus sending him into a moment of despair at himself for earlier words yet again.<p>

Shake, shake.

_Ngh, no. Go away. Sleeping._

Unconsciously, Nero curled up into a ball, protecting his sleepy body from reality with thumb firmly between his lips. Despite his best efforts, however, only more shakes and yells came to eventually stir him from welcome void.

"...wh... what...?"

"I cannot believe you allowed him to escape. You're an absolute disgrace!"

"...yeah... I know." The knight groaned, wincing as he plucked the digit from his mouth and pushed himself up into a sitting position. "Ghr... my head hurts."

The Captain glared. "I'll make sure more than just your head hurts if you don't pull yourself together soon. This isn't a damn holiday resort!"

Snorting at his insolence, he then turned on his heel to grumble with hands clasped behind his back and think up how to proceed with the presented affairs. It proved to be more trifling than anything he'd had to deal with before. What they had to deal with before usually consisted of blasphemers, people marching up and down Fortuna castle's bridge in mankinis on a Saturday night. And also demons, of course.

In the meantime, a loud scraping approached, drawing Nero's attention. He squinted at Kyrie's figure, watching in awe as the petite woman hefted a large steel case toward him. It was huge, bearing the insignia of the Order of the Sword in rich red embedded amongst matt grey.

What was truly impressive, though, was the size of her next to the thing itself.

...no wonder Credo went on about how she was a strong, independent woman who didn't need a man. He was still wrong, though.

More like a strong, independent woman who didn't need a forklift truck.

"Woah, Kyrie... what's, uh... what's this?" Please be bondage, please be bond-

"She yearns for your touch."

_Fuck ye-_

Before Nero could get a word in, the songstress threw open the case to reveal its contents - not bondage gear, nor a sweet dominatrix as her words had been implying for a few, beautiful moments. But a large... sword.

"She was delivered under Credo's request." She smiled a tender smile, one that contradicted the pain brought by her explanation.

Red Queen was a sword of sensual proportions, however, possessing feminine beauty with deadly elegance. Her blade was smoother than a newborn's cheeks with all the sharpness of a corned beef tin lid.

But she didn't have breasts. So loss of points for that one.

A pair of white brows lowered as Nero bit his teeth together. "Aaaand no doubt it was just another of his evil ploys. Yeah. Uh, thanks, Credo," he called over his shoulder to the Captain, who only grinned a broad grin with his back turned to the knight, "always doing things for me... You the man."

And 'the man' had also stolen Nero's mp3 player, headphones and all tucked away out of sight so the boy wouldn't suspect a thing.

Heheheh... it felt good to be cruel.

"Yes, well... I should update them back at headquarters... And, Nero," Credo watched him sidewards on his way out of the building, "make sure you catch him. Or else you and I will be having _words_..."

Even the tone was ominous. While his footsteps faded into the distance that was outside, the building also began to tremble. Glass and marble cracked away under the pressure of the otherworldly tremor - probably caused by Credo's evilness alone - that ensued and Nero gulped audibly. This day... just wasn't his day.

"I need an adult."

Needless to say, Kyrie's cheery response to that failed at its purpose to comfort.

"Credo's an adult!"

* * *

><p>"So, get <em>this<em>, Trish - the dude with the unnecessarily sharp beard? He thinks I'm Leonard Cohen!"

Strolling down the street, Dante's boots made the pavement their bitch, leaving bloody prints in his wake. Entrails were thrown into the mix as arterial spray of colours deep in the red end of the spectrum were spurted into the air this way and that at the flick of a wrist. The hunter was carving arcs through the hordes that were surging their way into Fortuna. All around him, brick crumpled, people sprinted for their dear lives.

Then there was Dante in the middle of it all, casually turning the hellish creatures to multi-coloured mince, exchanging Ebony and Ivory with the mobile flip phone at will. Skipping, dancing. He was a snazzy mother-effer and he enjoyed flaunting it. Why not?

"Yeah. Uh-huh." _Bang. Sizzle._ "Credo? Super name. The beard says 'Cre_don't_' and I agree. It really shouldn't. I'm shaving it off his face- **_ngh_**!" In a tight spot, Dante rammed his head against the fairly huge Scarecrow that had gotten too close for comfort. He followed this up with the fatal descent of Rebellion's blade, straight down upon its cranium. It soon had it's skull cracked from crown to jaw and Dante pulled a face, nudging the then lifeless body away with one foot. "Uh - next time I see him."

He lowered the phone against his shoulder and leaned over to whisper to the corpse beneath him. "You must have a splitting headache now, pal, sorry."

Ahem.

"You were saying? ...wait, so. _That's_ why you asked me if I was willing to go in drag? You're in there now? Damn it."

Flipping the phone shut, Dante drove Rebellion through the stomach of another demon about to pounce.

"_Move aside, ladies. Leonard's got a job to do_."

* * *

><p>' <em>It's the end of the world as we know it,<em>

_And I feel fine._ '


End file.
